1. Chapter 1
one
Sadie
When my grandma left me her savings in her will, I knew what I had to do.
Open The Rolling Scone, a fifties-inspired bakery and coffee shop with just enough sass to carry her name and all the love she gave me. Grammy always said I was born with sugar in my veins and chaos in my curls.
I’d already formed the LLC, filed my business license, and started the health department paperwork. The official inspections would come after the work I was about to put in, but at least the bureaucratic circus was already in motion.
So here I was, in my Rosie the Riveter cosplay, sleeves rolled, red bandana tied, and drop cloths down. I’d paint the walls first, then do the glitter epoxy floor I saw in that viral video… yes, glitter in the epoxy. It was going to be so cute, I could scream.
Except I was having trouble reaching the top of the wall. My little step ladder wasn’t cutting it, and even on tiptoes, I was still a few inches shy of success.
I glanced across the street at the bike shop-slash-garage. Four guys. Big, grease-smudged, tattooed guys, currently vibing to something loud and vaguely metal. Not bad, actually. I didn’t recognize the band, but I liked the guitar's crunch.
A ladder. That’s all I needed.
I grabbed one of the mason jars of homemade lemonade I’d brought in my cooler. If they had a ladder, I’d trade them a glass and a smile. Fair deal.
As I crossed the street, a flash of red caught my eye: a gorgeous woman with killer curves and confidence in every step. She met me halfway.
“Hey, hon,” she said warmly. “How can we help?”
Behind her, the music cut off. Four sets of eyes turned toward me as I stepped on stage.
“Oh! Uh, I was just wondering if you all had a ladder I could borrow. I’m trying to paint the walls, but mine’s not tall enough and…” I gestured lamely toward my paint-covered hand, and now paint-covered retro navy coveralls, which suddenly felt very cupcake-core next to all that black and denim.
She smiled like I was exactly the kind of thing they needed to shake up their day.
“I brought lemonade?” I offered, holding it up like a peace offering. “Homemade. With mint.”
The redhead tapped her lip, considering. “How about something a little better than a ladder…”
She turned, eyes scanning the group until they landed on the largest man, who immediately averted his gaze like a teenager caught skipping class. Her grin turned wicked.
“Diesel. Why don’t you help our new neighbor…”
“Sadie,” I filled in quickly.
Her smile widened. “Sadie! I’m Amy Carter. And these are the guys. The big grumpy one here is Diesel.” She patted his arm, and he flinched like it burned.
I glanced up at him—tall, broad, brooding, and clearly not thrilled about being volunteered. His eyes were a deep stormy gray, like thunderclouds with a grudge.
Amy gestured to the rest. “That’s Wrecker,” she said, nodding toward a lean guy with grease on his jaw and a grin full of trouble.
“That one is Skunk—” I clocked the white streak through his dark hair and understood the nickname.
“And that’s Ghost.” A quiet, serious-looking man in the back gave me one of those manly chin-lift nods. Respectful. Cool. Mysterious.
Just as I was processing all of them, another man walked out of the office, a blond with steel-blue eyes and enough presence to stop traffic. He looked at Amy like he wanted to devour her on the hood of the nearest truck.
My heart did an entirely inappropriate little flutter.
God, I wanted a man to look at me like that.
Amy glanced back and smiled, utterly unfazed. “And that’s Beck, my husband. He owns this little paradise.”
“Nice to meet all of you,” I said, trying to make eye contact without feeling like I was auditioning for a remake of The Expendables: Mechanic Edition.
They all gave me some version of a nod or grunt.
Except Diesel.
He just stared, unreadable.
I smiled anyway.
Diesel
I was going to kill Amy.
Why the hell did she volunteer me? Wrecker would’ve been better. He’d flirt, charm, and smile like an idiot. That wasn’t me.
“Thanks for helping out, Diesel,” Sadie said, all bright smile and big blue eyes.
I grunted.
The walls weren’t even that high, just tall enough that her little step ladder wasn’t cutting it. I climbed up and started painting, roller gliding smoothly across the wall. No small talk. No eye contact.
I didn’t need a friend.
Definitely didn’t need someone as soft and tempting as this woman hovering nearby, smelling like sugar and citrus.
Took me less than fifteen minutes to hit the edges she couldn’t reach. Quick, clean. I wiped my hands on my jeans without thinking.
Pink paint.
Well, shit.
“Need anything else?” I asked, already halfway to the door. I could feel her eyes on me.
She blinked, like she was surprised I had vocal cords. “So you can talk,” she said, grinning like she’d caught me in a lie.
I grunted again.
“Here.” She held out a mason jar. “Payment.” Her fingers brushed mine as I took it.
The lemonade was cold, tart, with just a hint of mint.
The grin she gave me then? Dangerous.
It almost made me smile back.
Almost.
I crossed the street, the jar of lemonade still cold in my hand, and walked straight into the firing squad.
Wrecker was already grinning like an idiot. “So,” he drawled, leaning against the workbench. “How was your little date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” I muttered, setting the lemonade down a little too hard. It sloshed.
“Oh, he brought back lemonade,” Skunk said with mock awe, wiping his hands on a rag. “She got to you, man. You’re soft now. All that glitter in the air went straight to your brain.”
Ghost didn’t say anything, but he raised one brow and tilted his head like, really, bro?
I didn’t answer. Just grabbed a socket wrench and started fiddling with the engine block we’d been working on earlier. Like maybe if I focused hard enough, they’d shut up.
They didn’t.
“Did she bat her lashes at you?” Wrecker kept going. Pretending to be all flirty and girlie, batting his lashes as he said, “Call you, ‘Mr. Diesel, sir? Offer you a cupcake and a backrub for being such a big, strong man?”
“She gave me lemonade,” I muttered.
Skunk made a dramatic face. “With mint. Oh, hell. It’s over. Next thing you know, he’s gonna be baking crinkle cookies and naming his tools after her.”
“Thought you didn’t talk to people,” Ghost said. It was the first time he’d spoken, and the quiet judgment in his voice hit harder than all the jokes combined.
“I don’t,” I grumbled. “Amy volunteered me.”
“Oh sure,” Wrecker said, eyes dancing. “Amy volunteered you. We all saw that, but you still climbed up her step ladder like a knight in shining flannel.”
I didn’t look up. I could feel the stupid grin forming on Wrecker’s face.
“She’s cute,” Skunk added with a shrug. “Real retro pin-up vibes. What’s not to like?”
I gave him a look. “You into pink hair and pastry puns now?”
“I’m into not watching you self-destruct alone in that sad-ass apartment of yours,” he said, dead serious for once. “So yeah. If cupcake girl gets you to crack a smile, I’m all for it.”
Before I could answer, the door creaked open.
“Cupcake girl, huh?” Wren’s voice cut through the room like a knife wrapped in velvet.
The resident pinstriper and tattoo artist most of us went to when the urge struck.
She strolled in, dark ponytail swaying, a streak of teal running through it.
“You clowns realize you sound like middle schoolers at recess, right?”
Wrecker smirked. “Hey, we’re just worried about our boy here. Man’s one smile away from a Hallmark card.”
“Uh-huh.” Wren leaned against the tool chest, wiping a speck of paint off her forearm with a rag. “Pretty sure if Diesel smiles, the world won’t end. But if you keep flapping your gums, I might end you.”
Skunk snorted. “Damn, someone’s cranky today.”
“Nah,” she said with a wicked grin, tossing the rag at him. “Just allergic to bullshit.”
I hid a smirk. Barely.
“Anyway,” Wren added, already heading for the back. “Whoever parked that Triumph outside—she’s leaking oil like a drunk on taco night. Fix it before it ruins my boots.”
The door swung shut behind her.
Wrecker let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to piss her off.”
“Yeah,” Skunk muttered. “She’s hot, though.”
I just kept working.
But the corner of my mouth twitched before I could stop it. And tried not to think about the smile she gave me when she handed over that damned lemonade.